


When You Move, I Move

by getouttaherevav



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, I consider it light anyway, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Public Sex, also everyone is queer, because of course they are, but everyone is legal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getouttaherevav/pseuds/getouttaherevav
Summary: Bucky is dragged to a club by his best friends with the sole intention of getting laid. He gets their wish.





	When You Move, I Move

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the new Hozier album because I am, in fact, that bitch.

“I am not-”  
“Oh yes you are.” Clint flicks through Bucky's closet, casting a baleful eye at the multitude of worn out band tees. “You've been a misery even though it was good riddance to see the back of that dickhole Rumlow, B, and I'm tired of it. We're going out, you're getting laid, end of story. I won't even distract with my raw animal magnetism, as I am choosing, for you, to give off incredibly taken vibes tonight.”  
Bucky rolls his eyes. “You are incredibly taken.”  
“True,” Clint acknowledges, tossing aside a fifth or sixth plaid shirt. “Phil would murder anyone who looked at me wrong,” he muses fondly.  
Bucky flops backward onto his bed. “Could he actually kill someone? Like, I wouldn't put it past him.”  
Clint shrugs. “Probably. But so could like, a really determined rabbit, so whatever.”  
“God you're weird, Barton.” Bucky huffs mildly as a low slung black v-neck (one of his slut shirts, as Nat calls them) and his tightest jeans are flung at his head.  
“But I'm your weird, angel face. Put those on, Nat will be here in fifteen minutes and you need at least ten to pretend your hair just looks like that.”  
“Aw come on, Clint, I can't even wear underwear with these.”  
“That's kind of the point, Buck,” Clint says, waggling his eyebrows.  
Bucky rolls his eyes again at Clint's retreating form but, after a couple more minutes staring at the ceiling, obediently peels his briefs off and wrestles himself into the jeans, lying flat on his back and sucking it in a little. He pulls the shirt on as well and stubbornly grabs a navy plaid from the floor, tying it around his waist. He makes his way to their shared bathroom (“Nine minutes and counting, sweetums!” Clint calls from the living room) and pulls some texturizer through his hair, arranging it into an artfully messy bun on top of his head. He pulls a piece of hair or two to the front of his face, then contemplates pulling Nat's spare eyeliner from a drawer but decides against it, knowing he'll get sweaty and gross dancing and end up with it smeared all over his face.  
Bucky gives his reflection a last once over and heads into the living room, where Clint and “if you're not early you're late” Natasha are waiting for him. Clint's watching Nat put on some shiny pink gloss, twirling a curl of her hair between his fingers.  
“Hey Nat,” he says, walking around the back of the couch and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. Clint whines until Bucky does the same to him. Bucky makes the short walk into the kitchen and takes three shot glasses from the cabinet and the special handle of vodka from the freezer that they only use for their traditional pregame shot. He brings them around to the coffee table and fills them to the brim. They each drink them in one fell swoop. “Put it away, Clint. Nat, put some of that on me?” Clint rises to his feet to replace the vodka while Bucky settles on the couch next to Natasha and faces her. “Not too much, I-”  
“Do I look like an amateur?” Natasha says dismissively. She pulls the wand from the tube of lip gloss and places one full swipe on each of Bucky's lips, then blends it out with her fingertips. She dips into the tube again and adds an extra dab in the center of Bucky's bottom lip, then leans back and grins. “There, perfect.”  
“Thanks, Nat, you're the best.”  
“Well, Clint said the goal was to get you laid. Clearly,” she dips one blood red fingernail beneath the deep v of his shirt, “you're on board with this plan.”  
“He picked my outfit,” Bucky says, thumbing over his shoulder in Clint's direction.  
“Oh, and he tied you down and forced you into it, did he?”  
“Aw, I would never. We're both bottom bitches, Nat, you know that,” Clint says, coming back into the living room. “Let's go already, Buck's undoubtedly missing out on some prime dicking just sitting here with us.” Clint shrugs on his jacket, patting down his pockets for his wallet, keys, and phone. “There's an assload of guys just begging for the chance to tell him he's pretty, and you're hogging it.”  
Bucky and Natasha trade near-identical exasperated looks, but rise from the couch and follow Clint out the door. “An assload, Barton, really?”  
Clint grins and pulls Bucky in to plant a messy kiss on his cheek. “Only if you're very, very lucky.”

The club they go to is a holdover from their freshman and sophomore days, a dark, pulsing place that didn't even have enough light to look closely at their fake IDs. They're all perfectly legal now, but the nostalgia of the place is usually enough to pull them in at least once a month. Clint, being Clint, heads straight for the bar to grab them the first round, while Natasha scopes out a table. She prefers to have a home base, and she's scary enough that no one will try to take it from her. Bucky hesitates for a second, but ends up following Clint to the bar. He's flirting with the bartender, but as it's the same bartender that's been serving them for three years, she's entirely immune to his charms and just laughs him off. Clint's ordered them each a shot and a beer, and Bucky helpfully grabs the tiny glasses so Clint can carry the bottles to their table. Natasha has already been approached by a moderately attractive blond man, but Bucky can see from a mile away that she's not interested. He and Clint swoop in, and that's enough to immediately send the guy packing.  
“Not looking for boys tonight?” Clint asks, taking a swig of his beer. Natasha and Bucky glare at him until he holds his hands up in surrender and grabs the shot instead. They clink their glasses together and down the vodka quickly, slamming the glasses down onto the table at the same time.  
“Haven't decided yet,” Natasha answers finally after a long pull of her beer. “But I wasn't looking for him, I know that much.” She nudges Bucky with her hip. “What about you?”  
“Dunno.” Bucky turns and leans back with his elbows on the table, facing the dance floor. “Hot.” He does a rudimentary scan, but doesn't see anyone that immediately catches his interest. “I'm gonna go dance. Either of you coming?” he asks, turning back around. Clint and Nat both shake their heads, but Natasha reaches forward with her lip gloss she's procured from god knows where to slick him up again. He grins and exaggerates smacking his lips together, then waves over his shoulder as he moves through the floor.  
Bucky slips from partner to partner, male or female, anyone fun who grabs his attention. He's only been dancing for about twenty minutes when he's suddenly desperate for a drink, parched even. He knows from experience that Clint will have already downed the rest of his beer, so he goes back over to the bar. There's a scant bit of free space and Bucky slots into it quickly, waiting patiently for the bartender to finish with her current customers. When she does he smiles and orders a double vodka soda.  
“Put it on my tab,” says a deep voice next to him, and Bucky turns to politely decline but the words die on his lips. Occupying an unreasonable amount of space next to him is a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, blond god as far as Bucky can tell.  
“You—you don't-”  
“I know I don't have to, but I would very much like to. You are far and away the prettiest thing in here tonight,” the man says, and Bucky almost swallows his tongue. He clears his throat, trying to regain his ability to speak.  
“Um, thanks. Thank you. Hi.”  
“Hello.” The man's eyes sparkle as he looks at Bucky, and he wants to feel that beard burn on the inside of his thighs. “I'm Steve.”  
“Bucky,” and the way Steve's eyebrow raises makes him color immediately. Way to sound like a kid in front of someone who seems easily ten years his senior. “James, I mean, actually. Bucky's a nickname, from my middle name, uh, Buchanan? But-”  
“Bucky? Relax,” Steve advises. “Sit with me while you have your drink?”  
“Absolutely,” Bucky answers, probably far too quickly. “I'd love to.”  
The smile Steve gives him is warm, and Bucky's sure the grin on his face isn't half as charming.  
The bartender sets Bucky's drink down but Steve holds a quick hand up. “How old are you, anyway?”  
“21,” Bucky answers a little defensively. He's got the patented Barnes baby face, he knows, and he's not usually bothered by it, but he doesn't want to appear any younger in front of Steve. “You?” he asks, in an effort to unseat Steve's apparently unflappable calm.  
“33,” and Steve doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. Bucky's not either, really, can't pretend he doesn't find it a little attractive, even.  
Bucky just holds his hand out for his drink, careful to watch Steve's hand while he grabs it. He's pretty, but he's not dumb, and not even the cut of Steve's jaw is going to distract him from making sure he's not drugged. Steve's fingers stay wrapped firmly around the bottom of the glass, so Bucky takes it and cheerfully downs half the drink while Steve watches his throat work.  
“So what brings you out?”  
“Shitty ex-boyfriend. Friends brought me out to get laid.” Bucky figures honesty is the best policy, forgoing his usual flirtations and games.  
Steve tilts his head, looks Bucky up and down slowly. “I see. Chosen a mark yet?”  
“Not sure. Can't just drag the first guy who buys me a drink to the bathroom and blow him.”  
Finally, Steve seems to lose his cool a little, fingers slipping on his glass so it clatters harmlessly to the bar. “That so?”  
“Mmm,” Bucky hums. “But I mean, technically, my friend Clint bought me one when we first came in, so you'd be the second,” he says pointedly, downing the rest of his drink.  
“Jesus,” Steve says under his breath. “How about we start with a dance? You seemed pretty at home on the floor earlier.”  
Bucky's mouth twists into a smirk. “You been watchin' me, Steve?”  
“How could I not? You... pull focus.”  
James Buchanan Barnes doesn't blush, goddammit, but the rumble in Steve's voice and the slow slide of his eyes over Bucky's body are making a compelling argument. There must be some control to be regained here.  
“That...” Bucky exhales heavily, ready to show his hand. “Seems like a waste of time.” He lets his mouth drift open, licks his bottom lip to draw Steve's attention to his mouth.  
Steve smiles ruefully, like he knows exactly what Bucky is doing. “Rest assured, I would not consider any time spent with my hands on you wasted.” Steve finishes his drink and gets up, holding out his hand. “Come on.”  
Bucky folds his fingers into Steve's, too eager and entirely uncaring about it. Steve leads him to the dance floor, offering a spectacular view of his shoulders, his back, his ass moving gorgeously together. Bucky's expecting to be pulled in tight but he's not expecting to be whipped around so his back is flush to Steve's chest, and it steals the breath right out of him.  
“You move quick,” he manages to choke out, leaning back with his forehead pressed to Steve's neck.  
“I'm quick?” Steve echoes incredulously. “You're the one who just offered to blow me in the bathroom.”  
“Which you rejected,” Bucky whines softly, letting Steve guide him in a slow grind.  
“For now. Don't pout.”  
Bucky can enjoy this, he can, even if all he wants to do is drop to his knees. He's never felt this, at least not this instantaneously and no where near this strong. The desire he feels pulsing in his belly is stunning. He wants to tangle his fingers into Steve's golden hair, angle his head down until that beard is scraping against his shoulder, until Steve can't help but bite strong into his neck.  
Steve's hands trail down his sides, fold around his hips, the tips of two fingers sliding just under the waistband of his jeans, only for a moment.  
“God, did you paint these things on?” Steve mutters next to his ear. “Should be able to see your panty lines, they're so tight.”  
“If I was wearin' any, maybe,” Bucky drawls, pressing back with his entire body.  
“Fuck, baby,” and Steve can't seem to help himself, presses wet, open-mouthed kisses into Bucky's neck.  
Bucky can barely hear the music that's playing, he's so turned on. He can only hope he and Steve are at least grinding together on beat, but it's a far cry from the forefront of his mind. No, he can only focus on Steve's mouth on his neck, Steve's hands on his hips, the solid wall of Steve's torso against his back, Steve's apparently hard, apparently massive dick pressing into his ass. Bucky is hyper aware of every point of contact, feels them like tiny electric shocks to his skin. He can't take it anymore, needs it like he needs oxygen.  
He whips around in Steve's hold and presses the heel of his hand firmly against Steve's cock, not caring who can see. Steve's intake of breath is sharp and gorgeous, and they're pressed so close Bucky can feel it like he's taking the air into his own lungs.  
“I want it, come on, I want-”  
“Okay, all right,” Steve says soothingly. “Let me settle up and we'll get out of here, baby, wherever you want-”  
“No, nope. Can't wait that long.” And he is so, so done with waiting, wraps firm fingers around Steve's wrist and yanks until Steve gets the message and stumbles after him to-  
“You weren't serious about the bathroom, Bucky, come on.”  
Bucky completely ignores him, pulls him into the bathroom, still holding on to just his wrist. He leaves Steve by the door and kicks open each stall, counting every lucky star in the world that they're all empty. He goes back to Steve and reaches past him to flip the latch into place, grinning sharp and feral. Steve has no choice, lets Bucky back him into the door and watches as he drops to his knees.  
“God, but you do look pretty down there,” Steve says softly, cupping the side of Bucky's face. “You sure? We just met, Buck.”  
Bucky doesn't answer, just leans into Steve's palm for a second and then lets himself drift forward and- there's no other word for it- nuzzles his nose against Steve's dick. He licks along the line of it, only tastes denim but it's worth it for the way Steve melts into the door, bracing himself with one hand while the other stays firmly on Bucky's head.  
“I'm going to suck your cock now,” Bucky says, perfectly even like he doesn't give a damn. In truth, his mouth is nearly watering he wants it so much, but Steve doesn't need to know that.  
“Please?” Steve breathes, loud in the relative silence of the empty room.  
That's all the encouragement Bucky needs to pop the button and zipper on Steve's jeans, to pull the waistband down with no preamble so Steve's cock is exposed. It's just as big as Bucky thought it felt through his clothes, hard as can be and curved sweetly upward, and now Bucky's mouth really does fill with saliva. He doesn't waste another second, gets his hand around the base and lets his mouth drop open. He sets the head of Steve's cock against his full bottom lip, and looks up at Steve while he moves his hand up toward his mouth and back down, just once.  
“God, Bucky, please,” Steve begs. He looks wrecked already, eyes wide and cheeks flushed beneath his beard.  
Bucky doesn't need the pleading, came here and fell to his knees in front of Steve with a specific intention. So he licks across Steve's slit, letting his lip pillow under the ridge where most guys are sensitive. He wonders, then, what Steve likes. Should he just—go for it? Drop his jaw wide and fall on Steve's dick until his nose touches skin, until he can taste Steve in the back of his throat? Or does he like teasing, slow, filthy drags of his tongue up and down the shaft until it's dripping? God, Bucky has never put this much thought into a blow job in his life. But he can already tell he doesn't want this to be a one time thing, so he has to make it good. He decides to split the difference and lets the curve of Steve's cock smooth shallow against the inside of his cheek, his tongue playing over the shaft.  
“Buck, can I—fuck, can I take your hair down? Wanna- want-” Steve groans, so Bucky takes it upon himself to help Steve out and pulls at the elastic until his hair falls. Luckily, he sprang for the not-as-shitty-as-it-could-be product and it's not too crunchy, because Steve's fingers thread through his hair like they're magnetized as soon it as it falls around his face.  
“You can pull it if you want,” Bucky says quietly, leaning up and laying soft kisses around the base of Steve's cock. “I'm into that. Just, not too hard. And hey, don't fuck my face, okay? I don't know you like that.” Bucky knows that's not really sexy, but he also doesn't want to die in a bathroom choking on a big dick, so.  
“You got it, baby doll, just—please,” Steve breathes. Bucky dips back down, surprises Steve by tracing his tongue up his balls rather than sliding back onto his cock. Steve's grip in his hair tightens, and the tiny pricks of pain make Bucky's dick twitch in his jeans. He doesn't pull it out, not yet, wants to focus on the job at hand and the pressure is doing just fine for him for right now anyway.  
“Get back on that dick, huh, baby?” Steve asks gently, tugging on the hair sliding through his fingers.  
Bucky acquiesces, lets Steve pull him back and feed him his cock. Bucky stops him with a hand around the base and pushes down until his lips meet his fingers. Steve is already close to his soft palate, and he swallows just to feel Steve flex in his mouth. Steve groans, another wordless, wounded thing, and changes his grip from pulling to petting, tucking strands behind Bucky's ear and slumping against the door a little more.  
Bucky finally starts to move, really bob his head back and forth and let his cheeks hollow a little. He flicks his wrist quick and easy, just to give Steve friction everywhere.  
“God that's—that's so good, jesus,” Steve breathes, his hands tightening again. One sweeps to the back of his skull and cradles it gently, grabbing the soft hairs at the back of Bucky's neck and tugging hard before releasing immediately. The split second of unexpected pain nearly has Bucky's eyes rolling back in his head, and he moans around Steve's dick.  
“You do like it, don't you? God, the fun I could have with you.” The timbre of Steve's voice, gorgeous and rumbling, is so deep Bucky imagines he can feel it in his toes. “You should have seen yourself on the dance floor; the way you move is fucking sinful, baby. Couldn't keep my eyes off of you and your body and your goddamn mouth, so shiny and pretty. Seemed like you were out there just for me to look at.”  
Bucky could come in his pants, he realizes suddenly, listening to Steve's apparently unedited stream of consciousness. He lets his hands fall, one to Steve's hip and the other to squeeze his own dick through his pants while he takes Steve's cock into his throat.  
Steve doesn't miss a trick, apparently, even as he's groaning and shaking with the effort of restraining himself. “You can touch yourself all you want, sweetheart, but don't come.” He fits a hand under Bucky's chin to tilt his face up a little, just enough so Bucky refocuses his hazy gaze on Steve. “I wanna get my hands on you, wanna make you come myself, okay?”  
Bucky wants to cry; there's no way this man is real. He hums an affirmative and grins internally when Steve moans and bangs his fist against the door behind him. He swallows, loud and messy, and puts both of his hands on Steve's hips. He will come if he keeps touching himself, and he wants- wants to be good. Good for Steve.  
“Oh, that's- good boy, baby, you're so good,” Steve echoes his thoughts, and Bucky's knees slide further apart on the floor. “Yeah, you gonna spread your legs for me, Buck? You thinkin' about me fucking you?” He wasn't, no, he was thinking about sliding forward until his face is buried in the wiry, dusky blonde hair on Steve's skin. But god, he is now, thinking about tangling his fist into Steve's shirt and throwing him down onto this disgusting bathroom floor to ride him into oblivion. He's stronger than he looks, could probably do it while Steve is very much distracted. But he's got no lube and no condom, so that's a hard no. But he wants it, and soon if he can.  
Right now, though, he wants to make Steve come. He moves to put his hand back around the base of Steve's cock, give him more friction, but Steve stops him with both hands covering his. Bucky hums a little, questioning.  
“Want to come just from your mouth.” Steve grabs Bucky's first two fingers and threads them into his belt loops. “Can you keep them there for me, baby? That okay?” he asks softly, voice full of warmth.  
Bucky huffs a warm breath out of his nose, and he answers by squeezing his hands around Steve's hips and redoubling his efforts with his mouth. Jesus.  
Steve moves one hand back to Bucky's hair, wrapping several long strands around his fist. “How about you let me help you a little, huh?” he says softly.  
Bucky's not sure what he means until Steve pulls, so gently, and Bucky slides back off of his cock a little. This is more control than he'd usually give someone he just met, but it would be nice, if he's honest, and anyway out of the two of them Steve is certainly the more vulnerable right now.  
Bucky hums again, and lets his head fall until all the hair in Steve's grip is slack, waiting to be pulled taut again.  
“Thank you, baby,” Steve groans before he pulls Bucky forward again, pushing his cock right to the back of Bucky's mouth. Bucky gags a little, can't help it, and Steve immediately pulls him back again, lets him get his breath. He does it a few more times, lets Bucky's throat convulse tight over the head of his cock until Bucky lets himself relax. Steve's surprised when there's no resistance and he slips right into Bucky's throat, letting out a low, choked noise.  
“Goddammit, Bucky, that's so good. You're so tight, sweetheart.” Steve's careful to only move Bucky's head, never his hips, which stay perfectly rooted to the door behind him. Bucky keeps his tongue moving, keeps his cheeks as hollowed as he can, swallows whenever Steve's cock hits the back of the throat. Bucky's completely blissed out, eyes closed and humming as Steve takes what he wants. It's a shock, then, when he's pulled off entirely and he's left hanging from Steve's hand with his mouth wet and open.  
“Mmm?” he hums, pleased at how the noise scratches out of his throat.  
“Was going to come, baby, and I wasn't sure if you wanted it in your pretty mouth or not.” Steve's looking down at him like he hung the damn moon. Bucky pulls himself free from Steve's grip and leans forward to rest his forehead against his hip.  
“You wanted my mouth,” Bucky mumbles, squeezing one of his hands where it had drifted down to wrap around the back of Steve's broad, muscled thigh. “You can have it.”  
“Jesus christ,” Steve murmurs, barely audible. He allows Bucky to move back to it at his own pace, sucking Steve's cock into his mouth and immediately letting him all the way back into his throat. Steve gasps and puts both hands back into Bucky's hair. “That's it, baby, you've got me. Gonna make me come so hard.” Steve's panting, hard breaths in and out his mouth while he twitches across Bucky's tongue. He's still letting Bucky control his own movements though, and when he feels the muscles in Steve's legs tense under his hands he move so the head of Steve's cock is resting on his tongue.  
“Here it comes, sweetheart, oh my god” Steve groans, the flavor of him pouring into Bucky's wide open mouth and pooling against his tongue. Steve comes for what seems like minutes, until he finally slumps against the bathroom door. Bucky's startled to find that Steve, incredibly, doesn't completely soften in his mouth. He's sorely tempted to keep Steve's half-hard cock in him, work him with cum-slick lips and tongue until he can go again, but now that Steve's come his own arousal has rocketed to the forefront of his consciousness.  
Bucky rocks up onto his feet while Steve's still panting against the door and moves to the sink, spitting what's in his mouth down the drain. He's about to open his jeans when big hands slide around his waist from behind.  
“What'd I say?” Steve whispers against his neck, big body caging him in and pressing him against the sink. “What did I say when you were on your knees for me, baby?”  
“You—you said I could touch myself,” Bucky stammers, leaning back into Steve's embrace.  
Steve pinches his thigh, hard enough he can feel it through the denim and making him jolt, pleasure and pain twisted up together and making his dick throb in his jeans.  
“Don't get smart with me, Buck.” Steve pets the spot that he pinched, then smooths his hand around to the front of Bucky's jeans, pulling gently at the zipper so Bucky can feel it. “What did I say?”  
“You wanted to make me come yourself,” Bucky repeats dutifully, and Steve rewards him by unfastening his jeans completely. He leaves them hanging open though, and directs Bucky's gaze upward with his free hand under Bucky's chin to look at them in the mirror.  
“That's right, baby, and I'm going to. You look like you already have though, look at you.”  
It's true, Bucky looks fucked out in a way he almost never feels, hair a mess around his shoulders and his lips swollen red and slick, a little bit of Steve's come smeared on his chin. His jeans hanging open reveals a line of hair and the truly obscene swell of his dick, tucked against his thigh and positively aching. He looks like he was put away wet and grateful for the pleasure of it.  
“You're gonna come fast for me, aren't you, sweetheart?” Steve keeps one hand on Bucky's chin, holding hard and forcing him to look, and pulls Bucky's cock out with his other one. Bucky nods, wants to hide his flushed face in Steve's neck but feels a hot sort of pleasure in his belly from being made to watch himself. “Look at this, such a pretty boy,” Steve coos, wrapping his hand fully around Bucky and stroking him in slow, even pulls. Bucky isn't small by any means, but god Steve's hand is huge and just the right tightness, makes him feel like he's fucking into something rather than just getting the world's meanest handjob.  
“I want you to work for it, okay?” Steve says. “I want you to take what you want from me like you let me take from you, Bucky.” He pushes his hips against Bucky's ass to emphasize his point. “Go on, baby,” he says, and Bucky does, thrusts forward into the tight circle of Steve's fist while he watches himself in the mirror. Steve surprises him by mimicking his movements, a crude imitation of fucking his ass that nevertheless makes him six shades hotter and closer to coming. Steve's gone soft by now without any stimulation, dick tucked back into his pants, but it doesn't seem to matter to Bucky's dumb lizard brain, as he's closer than he thought he would be this fast.  
“Steve, Steve, please, I'm—” Bucky stops, bites his lip.  
“What? Whatever you want, baby, all you have to do is ask.”  
Bucky gathers up the frayed ends of his nerves and pulls his chin from Steve's grasp, finally letting himself tuck into his neck and inhale deeply. “Will you—will you tell me I can come, please? I want to hear you say it, want to be good—” He stops the words for you coming out, but only just.  
“Of course, Buck, I want you to come, okay? Come on, you can do it, baby, come for me,” Steve says, and when Bucky finds it in himself to look up he sees Steve's eyes in the mirror trained on his dick moving rhythmically through Steve's fist.  
As he's watching Steve's gaze moves to lock onto his own and that's what does it, that's what sends him tumbling headlong into the best orgasm he's had in ages, pulse after pulse spilling over Steve's fist and into the sink. Bucky cries out, high and sweet and clear before collapsing into a gasp, letting Steve take most of his weight. He does without complaint, leaning over to get a handful of paper towels and wetting them. He cleans both of them up as best he can, tucking Bucky back into his jeans and zipping him up. Bucky's still leaning against him, and Steve's dick is interested again, apparently, enough to be felt through his pants.  
Steve doesn't seem to be concerned though, busying himself nosing at Bucky's neck and running gentle fingers through his hair. Bucky is perfectly content to stay like this all night, except the feeling of Steve's lips on his neck remind him there's something else he wanted to do.  
“Steve?” he says, soft, feeling like he wants to keep the world muted to the two of them for a little while longer. Steve hums in response, beard scratching at Bucky's neck. “You wanna kiss me?” Bucky feels like he's holding his breath. He can only see the top of Steve's head, but when he lifts it there are sweet faint crinkles around his eyes, he's smiling so wide.  
“I haven't gotten around to that yet, have I? Where are my manners?” Steve grabs Bucky by the shoulders and turns him around so his ass is resting on the sink and envelops him with arms around his hips. “I'm sorry about that, babydoll. Let me make it up to you.”  
Steve, gorgeous, perfect Steve, leans in and Bucky closes his eyes. He waits to feel Steve's lips press against his own but instead they seem to take a detour, alighting on his forehead so gently he can barely feel it.  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky exclaims. He grabs the front of Steve's shirt and pulls him down, closing the couple of inches of height difference between them and slamming their lips together. Steve laughs into his mouth, the absolute asshole, but eases himself into the kiss the same way he's done everything else tonight, letting Bucky take the lead.  
So he does, presses his tongue to the seam of Steve's lips until they open for him and he can press inside and taste him. He pulls back when he absolutely has to and Steve is still grinning.  
“I wasn't done!” he says, chuckling gently. “I was going for forehead first, then cheeks, then possibly eyelids, then your sweet mouth.” Steve kisses right between Bucky's eyebrows. “I was going for romantic.”  
Bucky rolls his eyes and grins along with him, pressing their smiles together fleetingly. “I just blew you on a bathroom floor.” He looks up at Steve and speaks without thinking. “You can romance me all you like next time.” He immediately knows he didn't want to be that transparent, but it's out there now and he won't back down from it.  
“Yeah?” Steve's voice is low and soft again, almost just a puff of air against Bucky's cheek. “You gonna let me take you out?”  
“Absolutely, yes please.” No point in hiding how eager he is, after what they just did.  
“Dinner, 100% my treat, tomorrow night? Wear something pretty?” Steve says hopefully, but Bucky thinks he's maybe not as confident as he seems, since the sentence is said into the hollow beneath Bucky's ear.  
Bucky pulls him back so they're face to face and kisses his bottom lip.  
“It's a date.”


End file.
